


Like Static

by YellowMustard



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Boys In Love, Connor Deserves Happiness, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, M/M, New Relationship, Not Underage, PWP, Shower Sex, Smut, Yeah I wrote more sex die mad about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23064331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: Showers make noise.In his eighteen years of existence, Evan really ought to have figured this out by now.(Or: ;) ;) ;) come on guys ;) ;) what ;) ;) do you think is gonna happen here ;) ;) )
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 50
Kudos: 328





	Like Static

**Author's Note:**

> HEYYY long time no see!
> 
> I've missed posting SO MUCH and honestly I have been writing heaps, but I've been in this weird state lately where I've just been jumping from WIP to WIP and not finishing anything, whoops!
> 
> Hope this makes up for like a full month of nothing!
> 
> TW: READ THE TAGS. HAND STUFF. Some minor references to Connor having self-harm scars but it's brief.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! I love inboxes, messages, whatever!!! @theyellowestmustard

* * *

Showers make noise.

In his eighteen years of existence, Evan really ought to have figured this out by now.

They’re not quiet, either. A running shower can easily be heard from behind a locked door. If the water pressure’s good, you can sometimes hear it from another room. Sometimes even from the other side of the  _ house.  _ A swishy, sizzling kind of sound; like falling rain, but sharper, crisper, amplified by tiles and glass. Like static, or a million “shh’s” all at once. 

Evan knows what a shower sounds like, because Evan is not an idiot. 

Well. That’s...debatable, honestly. 

It all started like this: Connor had shown up on Evan's doorstep two days ago with an overstuffed backpack over one shoulder and a fierce, angry look in his eyes. 

Evan doesn’t actually mind the fierce, angry looks. Not really, because they’re far better than the dead ones. The ones where Connor seems not to be feeling anything at all, where Connor doesn't seem to  _ care _ that he's not feeling anything at all. 

The look Connor gets when he  _ wants  _ to never feel anything ever again.

That dull, lifeless expression is absolutely horrifying.

So Connor had shown up. With a bag, and something wild and animal about his eyes, and Evan had let him in, because this has happened enough times before and Evan knows how to deal with it. 

And he  _ wants _ to deal with it.

He wants to be the one Connor comes to when everything is just too much. He wants to be Connor's safety, Connor's peace. He wants to be the place where Connor's brain can rest.

He'll  _ always  _ want that, he's pretty sure.

It's only reinforced every time Connor pokes his cheek, or holds his hand under the table while they eat dinner with Evan's mom, like there's some sort of secret held protectively between their palms. Or when he rests his head on Evan's shoulder when they're watching a movie. Or when he nuzzles his face into Evan's neck. 

And he's extra  _ extra _ sure about it when Connor kisses him. 

Or like. Slides his hands under Evan's shirt. Which is kind of a recent addition, and one that Evan is absolutely not complaining about.

The point is: Connor had appeared on Evan's doorstep again, with his eyes all hot and his nose all red and his shoulders hunched up to his ears, and Evan had stepped aside to let him through without question, following Connor upstairs to his room and doing his best to be the calm one as Connor tossed his bag to the floor and kicked it hard with a resounding yell of  _ "Fucking  _ _ fuck!" _

And Evan had wanted to go to him, to touch him, to wrap him up in the tightest hug and squeeze all the pain away; just wring it all out like a damp washcloth. 

But he knows that doesn't work. Not when Connor's like this.

So he'd kept his distance. 

"Sorry," Connor had muttered, not meeting Evan's eyes and beginning to pace, looking very much like a caged animal. "Sorry, fuck. I'm not trying to be, like. I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just…"

"I know," Evan had said, because he knew, he  _ knows _ , he gets it.

"Like, I'm not trying to...I don't want you to think that I'm like...like one of those guys who slams doors and punches walls because what I really want is to punch  _ you _ . That's not...you know I don't want that, right? I would never fucking do that. Not  _ ever.” _

"I know," Evan had said again, which was, is, the complete truth. He's never been afraid of that, not even once. 

"I just. Fuck, I just feel like I'm going to fucking  _ explode,  _ I just fucking... _ fucking--" _

Wordlessly, Evan had passed Connor a pillow, and Connor had promptly buried his face in it and  _ screamed _ , screamed and screamed as he crumpled to a ball on the ground, until he had no more air in his lungs and the muffled sound had petered out.

Then he'd thrown Evan's pillow against a wall.

Gotten up, retrieved the pillow.

Then thrown it again.

And all of this was truly phenomenal. Incredible.

Because eight months ago, when Connor had been angry, he'd shoved Evan to the ground in the hallway, broken arm and all. Without even thinking. He'd just let that white-hot rage take over and burn everything else out of his brain and fill him up with sparks and smoke, the words  _ you're the fucking freak  _ spilling out of him like flames.

God, only  _ two _ months ago he'd called Evan in frustrated tears because he'd kicked a hole in his wall. 

Like. A pretty big one.

Screaming into a pillow was kind of an enormous step in the right direction.

And directing his anger so nobody is hurt by it; checking in with the people he cares about, trying to  _ talk  _ about how he feels even when his blinding rage has robbed him of words?

Connor is amazing. He's the strongest person Evan knows.

It had taken Connor a long time before he'd meekly piped up that he was okay with being touched again.

An even longer time of Evan sitting on the floor beside him, holding his hand, before he was able to talk about what had happened. 

Apparently Connor had been reading. Re-reading, actually -  _ Persepolis _ , one of his all-time favorites. And Larry had passed the living room on his way home from work. And at first he'd seemed happy to find Connor with his nose in a book, even made a teasing comment about Connor  _ 'staying out of trouble for a change', _ which Connor had  _ tried  _ not to find so jarring and hurtful, he'd  _ tried _ .

And then Larry had asked what Connor was studying.

And Connor had said that he wasn't, that it was just for leisure.

And Larry had gotten stuck into him about how he needed to take his education more seriously and he was set to graduate soon, very soon, and he should be thinking about college applications and his  _ future _ and he can't go through life just  _ breezing through _ , that Larry had raised him better than that. 

And Connor had hotly retorted that Larry had hardly raised him at all. 

And even if he  _ had,  _ there's no  _ way _ Connor wanted to end up a bitter old workaholic with nothing to show for his life except a flash car and a 550k mortgage.

And Larry had  _ not  _ liked that.

"It's such  _ bullshit _ ," Connor had said, viciously twisting a ring around and around his finger, pulling so hard Evan was afraid he might pop the digit out of its socket. "Like, is he  _ intentionally  _ ignoring the fact that in eight months I've brought my overall average up by 43%? Mrs Curruthers took me off of academic probation and says I'm no longer at risk of not graduating. But no, no, we're not gonna talk about  _ that _ , instead let's fucking focus on what I'm  _ not  _ doing. Like  _ always.  _ Fuck,  _ Zoe's _ allowed to have hobbies. Zoe can play her guitar and see her friends and she doesn't get fucking attacked for having a fucking  _ life.  _ It's  _ bullshit." _

So it was decided that Connor would stay at Evan's a couple of days. 

_ Just until everyone has simmered down a little,  _ Evan's mom had said.

_ As long as you need _ , Evan had said.

_ Cool, forever, glad we're all in agreement,  _ Connor had said.

Which, okay. Evan and Connor may have only been A Thing for a few months. It was still early days. And yeah, they were only eighteen; just on the brink of finishing senior year and perhaps not ready to make massive-whole-entire-life kind of commitments.

But forever did sound awfully tempting to Evan.

Forever sounded...really really good.

Anyway.

Connor had been at Evan’s for the entirety of the weekend. Heidi had made up the couch for him, making sure he had everything he needed; a few thick, cuddly blankets and a pillow and a bath towel. As a little joke, she’d even unearthed a bag of fun-size Snickers bars and left one on his pillow, like Connor was staying at a fancy hotel, which had cracked him up. She’d checked three times that the living room was comfy enough for him, that he felt at home, and Connor had assured her that yes, everything was perfect.

And then the moment Heidi had left for the nightshift he’d promptly grabbed all his stuff, the blankets and the pillow and the towel and the Snickers bar, and shifted everything into Evan’s bedroom.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he’d mumbled, shuffling his feet a little. “I just...I sleep better in here, so…”

“N-no, of course not, it’s--I like sleeping with you,” Evan had blurted out.

And then Connor had begun to snicker, and Connor’s face had turned red, and Evan’s face had turned red, and Evan had gone, “Not--I didn’t mean--I just meant...I mean, not that I  _ wouldn’t  _ ever want, um...  _ that _ , but just--I just meant I like having you. Um. Here. I just meant--”

And then Connor had kissed him and saved him the embarrassment of continuing. 

Which was very thoughtful of him, really.

So Connor had fallen asleep in Evan's bed. Holding him, as he always does when he stays at Evan's, with their bottom lips still dragging together after they've fallen asleep mid-kiss. And Connor had woken up with Evan, and eaten breakfast with Evan, and helped Evan finish his Bio homework. He'd helped Evan chop up vegetables for Taco Tuesday (poorly named, since it was Saturday), and watched a movie practically sitting in Evan's lap, and broken off half of his tiny Snickers bar to share with Evan, which hardly seemed worth it but was unbelievably cute nonetheless.

In fact, Connor had barely left Evan’s side for the entirety of the two days he’d been staying with him. Which didn't really come as a surprise to Evan at all; Connor’s almost as clingy as he is, even more so when things aren’t going well at home. 

And that’s wh y it was a little worrying when Evan woke up, after a long afternoon nap on the second day, to find a cold, empty space next to him.

Connor wasn’t there.

Evan blinked hard, feeling disoriented and groggy, not quite knowing what time it was or day it was, not quite knowing much of anything but still being acutely aware that Connor had been there when he’d fallen asleep, and then he was gone.

Evan’s knee-jerk response was, of course, panic. Which he quickly tried to shove down, because his logic-brain is very confident that Connor would  _ not  _ just walk out without an explanation while Evan is asleep.

Also, his bag was still there in Evan’s room, his stuff haphazardly falling out and his black high-top Converse propped up next to it.

Connor couldn’t go very far without shoes.

Probably he’d gone downstairs for a glass of water. Or maybe he’d woken up and not wanted to disturb Evan so he’d gone to watch TV or something.

So Evan had decided to go in search of him.

And, in retrospect, this probably would’ve been the first instance where Evan should’ve remembered that showers make noise.

Like static. Like fizzling. Like a long, loud  _ ‘hush’. _

But instead, Evan had been suddenly concerned with the state of his breath. 

Because he’d been napping, and his mouth tasted like a dumpster, and he absolutely could  _ not  _ go in search of Connor, who would probably (hopefully) want to shove his tongue in Evan’s mouth, until he’d brushed his teeth.

So he’d headed for the bathroom, and the door had been shut, which had struck Evan as odd, and this probably was the second instance in which Evan should’ve recalled that showers make noise, but he didn’t, because he still felt kind of fuzzy and not-real from sleeping so long in the middle of the day, and he really,  _ really  _ wanted to brush his teeth before Connor found him, or before he found Connor, whichever happened first, and when all of that came into play it’s like his brain just didn’t  _ register  _ the sound. The very obvious sound, coming from the bathroom.

So he'd just. Opened the door.

Which had led him to his current predicament. Disaster. Whatever.

Because Connor's just. There. In Evan's shower. 

With the borrowed towel from Heidi tossed on the floor. Along with his clothes. 

Because Connor's not wearing them. 

Because he's in the shower.

And the thing about Evan's shower is that it doesn't have a shower curtain; it's the kind with a glass sliding door. Which Evan appreciates, because he has this deep-seated fear of someone sneaking into his bathroom while he's in the shower and stabbing him to death, Hitchcock-style. Having a glass door alleviates that fear, because Evan can see out.

Which also means that Evan can see  _ in _ .

And Evan’s head feels all swimmy and his pulse spikes and for a moment he’s sure his face is going to just slide clean off his skull.

Evan can see... literally  _ everything _ .

Naked skin flushed pink from the heat of the water; long slender arms and bare shoulders and Connor’s chest and his stomach and his fucking  _ legs,  _ and…

Just like. 

Everything.  _ Everything-everything _ .

Including the way Connor's head snaps up at the sound of the door opening, the way his eyes widen in alarm.

The way he freezes, full deer-in-the-headlights.

Evan can practically  _ hear  _ his internal monologue of _ shit fuck ohmygod. _

Or maybe that's Evan's.

He knows immediately, of course, that he needs to get the absolute fuck out of there as quickly as he can. He needs to apologize and he needs to close the door and he needs to go. Jesus _ ,  _ he's already been standing there for far too long, at least a couple of seconds. 

He needs to  _ go. _

He needs to get  _ out.  _

But his feet are rooted to the spot and he thinks his mouth is hanging open but he's not entirely sure because he can't really feel his face and he's shaking a little and he's starting to sweat and fucking  _ fuck _ the least Evan can do is look  _ away  _ but he  _ doesn't _ , he still  _ hasn't,  _ what the fuck is  _ wrong  _ with him?

God he's a  _ creep.  _ He's  _ revolting _ , just standing there silently gawking at Connor who absolutely has  _ not  _ given Evan permission to look at his Very Naked Self. Evan's  _ awful.  _

His brain timidly supplies that maybe it's not so bad, because Connor hasn't  _ not _ given Evan permission to look, either. He hasn't actually said  _ anything _ , not ' _ get out'  _ or  _ ‘fuck off’  _ or  _ ‘how did you not hear the shower running you absolute moron.’ _

He hasn’t even, like. Tried to cover anything up.

Evan tells his dumb boy-brain to shut the fuck up. Inaction is  _ not  _ consent, and neither is silence.

But Connor isn’t silent for very long.

“Um...hi?”

Evan’s eyes fly back to Connor’s face from wherever the fuck they were wandering off to; to Connor’s raised eyebrows and unreadable expression, and the gravity of the situation hits Evan like a fucking anvil.

“Fuck, I-- _fuck_ , I’m so sorry oh my god I’m such an idiot, s-sorry, I just. I-I didn’t know you were in here, I was just--I should have _heard_ the shower and realized, but I wasn’t thinking and I--I didn’t _mean_ to walk in on you, and like, I _swear I didn’t see anything_ \--”

And, okay. 

Evan’s not a good liar. 

Evan is aware of this.

But in terms of Obvious Lies Evan Has Told,  _ ‘I didn’t see anything’  _ while still  _ openly  _ ogling Connor through a fully-transparent glass door, has got to take the cake. 

It’s like his eyes have literally got a mind of their own, flicking urgently over every inch of visible skin, trying to take it all in before it disappears forever.

“I didn’t...I didn’t see anything,” he says again, flustered and stupid, while his eyes frantically dart over Connor’s shoulders and neck and collarbone. 

“And I’m, um--I-I’m gonna go, sorry. I’m sorry…”

Evan does  _ not  _ go.

Jesus  _ Christ _ , Connor is beautiful.

“S-sorry, I’m--I’m going. I didn’t mean to…to, um...”

Evan isn’t sure if he’s drooling or if his mouth has completely dried up. 

He wonders if it’s medically possible for both things to happen at the same time.

There’s an awkward little cough; so awkward that Evan practically feels it resonate in his soul.

It takes him a moment to recognize that the sound has not come from his own throat.

“You’re, uh...you’re still here?” Connor croaks, part-sarcasm and part-questioning.

And vulnerable. Very very vulnerable.

He stands with his arms hanging limply at his sides, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with them, and his shoulders are stiff and creeping up towards his ears. Ears which are rosy and hot to match his cheeks, and Evan was sure a moment ago that it was because of the warmth of the water, but his face seems to be getting redder with each passing moment and now Evan’s not quite so sure. And he’s staring straight out at Evan with his eyes all big and his lips parted, and a rather ragged gust of air leaves him.

He doesn’t move. 

And he doesn’t tell Evan to leave.

“I’m...yeah. I’m…” says Evan, which means a fat lot of nothing. 

Evan can’t have been in the bathroom for longer than like, a minute, tops. But it feels like hours; like time is moving agonizingly slowly, like it’s  _ intentionally _ trying to make this whole situation as uncomfortable for Evan and Connor as possible.

And it’s that thought that snaps Evan’s brain back into gear.

Uncomfortable.

Connor is uncomfortable.

_ “Sorry,” _ Evan gasps out, the word bursting out of him in a way that’s almost vomitous. He whirls around and fumbles for the door handle, his fingers slick with sweat. “Sorry, just--forget I ever--”

“Y-you don’t have to, um--wait, hang on--”

Evan stops dead. 

He could  _ swear  _ he’d heard  _ Connor’s  _ voice waver, just a little.

He’s itching with the urge to turn back around and look again, but he’s not gonna do that. He’s done enough damage already. God, he’ll consider himself lucky if Connor ever wants to see him ever again.

There’s a long silence before Connor speaks again; faint and uncharacteristically shy, almost hidden under the echo of running water.

“You could, uh...stay. For a sec. If you want.”

Evan feels an odd little tremor run all the way down his spine, then back up again, settling in the crown of his head and buzzing; buzzing all the thoughts right out of his brain.

He hears static, but he’s not sure if it’s the water that’s causing it anymore.

Stay.

For a sec.

Evan can do that. Evan would really  _ like  _ to do that. Evan doesn't think he could even express in words just how much he would really like to do that.

“I...I, uh--”

Evan has not turned around.

“Just...only if you  _ want _ ,” stresses Connor, his voice cracking in this ugly way that almost gives Evan second-hand embarrassment; or, it would do, if he was able to focus on anything right now except the concept of  _ staying. For a sec. _

“I, um. I was--was just gonna brush my teeth, I can wait. Until you’re finished, I mean.”

Evan doesn’t kick himself, exactly; more like he beats himself to a bloody pulp in his head. He sees a tiny Evan in his mind’s eye, a second Evan; sees himself grabbing his clone by the hair and ramming his skull into a brick wall.

Why the fucking  _ fuck  _ did he say  _ that? _

“Oh,” says Connor, quiet and stricken. “Yeah, no, I...sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

The complete and utter humiliation in his voice makes Evan feel physically sick.

“No, that’s not--” Evan chokes out, the words all thick and sticky with his own spit. Gross. “It’s not like...I  _ want  _ to stay. But only if, um. If you’re sure you want--?”

Connor lets out a huff of exasperation.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Evan keeps his eyes trained on the door inches away from his nose, and does his best to bolster strength back into his knees, which feel weak and saggy like a sock gone through the laundry one too many times.

Connor is naked right behind him, and the water keeps on rushing.

“You can turn around,” says Connor, a little exasperated but still with that slight waver behind every word. 

And somehow, somehow, Evan finds the courage to shuffle his way back around to face Connor.

He never wants to look at anything else again.

Connor’s hair looks black when it’s wet. Evan hadn’t known that before. It hangs heavily over his collarbone, dragged down by water-weight, making it look even longer. Evan's eyes drift over it, from root to tip and then continuing downwards, even though he’s still not entirely sure if he’s allowed. He looks down Connor’s sternum and over his shoulders, his hips and his thighs, the insides of his wrists etched with lines in various states of healing, tilted outwards like he’s putting himself on display. 

And like. Yeah. Okay. Evan looks at like. At Connor’s…

Because how can he  _ not _ , right?

He’s kinda  _ felt  _ it before; hardening against his thigh or grinding hesitantly against him through way too many layers of clothing. 

But  _ seeing  _ is, like.

It’s just. It’s completely different. 

Evan’s face feels unbearably hot, and sort of numb. His whole  _ body  _ feels numb, and there’s a ringing in his ears, almost like he’s in the beginning stages of a panic attack, only without the nausea and the tears and the looming sense of dread. Like...the antithesis of a panic attack. If a panic attack was like. The protagonist.

“Um,” says Connor, breaking the silence, but just barely because his voice is soft and alight with nerves. “You should, like. C’mere.”

He pushes open the glass shower door with shaking fingers.

Evan takes a single, lurching step forward, completely on impulse, like there’s an invisible rope tugging him forward.

Then stops.

Does Connor mean for him to  _ also  _ get into the shower? Is that what Connor wants?

And if Evan  _ does _ get into the shower. If Evan is as naked as Connor is…

Is Connor going to like what he sees? 

He couldn’t possibly. Not as much as Evan does.

And all that aside.

If Connor wants Evan to get into the shower, and Evan gets into the shower, and Connor likes what he sees…

Is this, like.

It?

Is today like... _ the day?  _

Is Evan ready for that?

Is Connor?

The feeling of warm, wet fingers wrapping around his wrist pulls Evan from his sudden anxiety, like dragging him up to the surface from the bottom of a vast ocean. When he looks down Connor’s got his entire arm extended out of the shower, reaching way out to grab ahold of Evan and tug him closer.

“Hey,” says Connor, his voice low. “Chill. You’re in control here. This can, like...go as far as you want it to go, okay?”

Evan forces himself to look at Connor’s face, Connor’s honest, pretty eyes, and he feels himself deflate in relief. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, but...but you too, though.”

“Yeah,” breathes Connor.

Evan looks down at the long fingers looped around his wrist.

Connor does, too. 

“You can touch me if you want,” he says. 

Evan is going to pass out. 

He is. He’s going to. 

All the blood just immediately rushes to his head, collecting hotly in his cheeks and making his facial muscles feel lazy and unfocused. 

Also, blood rushes  _ elsewhere _ . Evan hopes Connor hasn’t noticed, then for a brief moment hopes Connor  _ has.  _

“Okay,” Evan says. Or maybe he just thinks it. He’s not sure.

But it is okay, it’s very very okay, because then Connor is pulling Evan’s wrist up and closer until his fingers are brushing against Connor’s collarbone; naked and warm and wet and heartachingly soft, and Evan’s touched him there before but this time Connor is naked and Evan is not and the shower is spraying speckles of water onto Evan’s T-shirt and he feels like he might spontaneously combust. He lets Connor drag his fingers slowly down his bare chest, across his ribcage and down to his stomach, and Connor watches him the whole time with wide, blown out eyes. One of them sighs, and the other whispers  _ “fuck”  _ but Evan’s not sure which is which, who is who. He keeps on touching, and Connor relinquishes his hold on Evan’s wrist and just lets him do what he wants, which is wonderful because Evan wants to do a Whole Lot of things. He brushes lightly over Connor’s hips, brings his other hand into the mix to trace the ridges of scars on Connor’s thighs, unable to tear his eyes from the path of his own hands, and it’s only when Connor whines softly that Evan realizes he’s standing so close that the front of his shirt is almost completely soaked through. 

“You should…” Connor pants, and he closes his eyes like he’s trying to focus. “You should come in here.”

Evan should. Evan really wants to. 

But the thought of being that naked, as naked as Connor, sends a sickening sense of dread unfurling deep in his belly, prickling his skin with goosebumps but not the nice kind, not like before.

He swallows hard.

“I’m...I’m not sure if…”

Evan tugs nervously on the hem of his wet shirt.

Connor snorts out a slight laugh.

“S’dumb,” he mutters, leaning forward to nuzzle into Evan’s face. “You’re cute. I wanna see.”

“I--” Evan starts, but Connor quickly cuts him off.

“S’okay, though,” he says, blasé and dismissive. “I can work around that if it’s cool with you.”

And then Connor’s caught him by both wrists and is gently pulling him forward into the shower.

Clothes and all.

Evan lets out a squeak of surprise, followed by a protesting  _ “Connor _ , oh my god--”, and then breaks into laughter as he lets himself be pulled in. Connor grins at him, all bright-eyed and cheeky, his jittery hesitation gone for a moment. He wraps his arms around Evan’s waist and pulls him against his chest into a full-body hug, and Evan is instantly soaked through. He’s still laughing, still with artificial protests on his lips,  _ “no no no--”  _ and the water makes his sweatpants feel so heavy he’s surprised they don’t just drop right off him.

Connor, still beaming, still dark-eyed and warm and all different pretty shades of pink, tries to tilt Evan’s face so he can kiss him. 

And wait, that was like...Evan’s whole problem in the first place.

Moving as quickly as he can so Connor doesn’t have time to object, Evan opens his mouth and tilts his head back, right into the path of the water. Collects a mouthful, gargles, swishes it around his teeth. Spits. Does all of this once more.

Then goes, “Okay, I’m good now.”

Connor bursts out laughing, shaking his head and going “Oh my god, you are unreal, you are completely ridiculous Evan oh my  _ god,”  _ and it warms Evan right through.

“Okay,” says Evan, “but like, are you gonna kiss me now, or what?”

Connor kisses him. Connor kisses him softly, gently, then fierce like he hasn’t kissed him in months. He cradles Evan’s cheeks and slides his hands down to fist in Evan’s wet T-shirt and kisses him in every which way, kisses him forever, and Evan is completely fucking lost, dissolving in it, dissolving under the water like an aspirin. 

He’s so lost that for a while he straight-up forgets that Connor is naked, that it’s the first time Connor’s ever been naked around him, that Connor  _ wants  _ to be naked around him, that this is actually, really, honest-to-god happening right now. 

Evan pulls back from the kiss after however-long-it’s been, and Connor groans in disapproval. 

“Come back here,” he mumbles, chasing Evan’s mouth with his own, pulling him close with both arms around his waist, and Evan grins as he arches back, leaning his head out of Connor’s reach.

Because. Because if Connor will let him...

There is something that Evan would really like to do.

And he’s dizzy at the thought of it, and his clothes feel heavy and his head feels heavy and his fucking hard-on feels heavy but…

But he thinks he’s finally mustered up enough courage to instigate this. This thing, the thing he’s been unable to stop thinking about since he’d first opened the bathroom door.

He buries his face in the crook of Connor’s neck, and the feeling of water beating down against his cheeks is strangely grounding.

“I...I really wanna, um. Touch you,” he admits tremulously into Connor’s ear, just loudly enough. “If that’s...if that’s something you…?”

He can’t find it in himself to finish, but it doesn’t matter because Connor fucking  _ shudders _ , hands tightening in the wet material at Evan’s back.

_ “Fuck _ ,” Connor chokes out. “Fuck yeah, you can--fuck yeah.”

So okay. Evan Hansen is about to give Connor Murphy a handjob in the shower.

Like. That very much is a thing that is happening right now.

Evan plants both of his hands on Connor’s bare shoulders and begins slowly sliding them down Connor’s chest, down his stomach to his hips, moving gradually enough that Connor can still change his mind; can still stop him at any point. Moves really really slow, maybe too slow, because Connor is breathless with anticipation, and when Evan pushes him back by the hips so he’s supported by the wall he outright  _ moans _ . 

Fuck, holy fuck.

“Stop me if--” Evan starts to say, and Connor makes a strangled sound of frustration and goes, “Absolutely not, shut up,” and Evan laughs softly and goes, “No but seriously though,” and Connor goes, “No.”

And then Evan is tentatively wrapping his fingers around Connor’s erection.

Connor breathes out a stuttered sort of sound, and his head lolls forward and drops onto Evan’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he whispers into Evan’s shoulder. “This is fine. I’m not like, dying or anything right now. Nope.”

Evan wants to laugh, but he can’t. He’s completely entranced by the feel of Connor’s skin, the heat and weight and the way Connor whimpers when he starts moving his hand. 

Connor’s fingers scramble to push aside the wet fabric sticking to Evan’s back so he can claw at Evan’s bare skin. “Fuck,” he gasps into Evan’s ear. “Fuck, oh my god--”

Evan keeps going, enveloped in warmth and slipperiness and the feeling of Connor’s nails digging harder and harder into his skin. Connor’s breathing grows increasingly erratic, louder, punctuated by the occasional soft moan of Evan’s name, and Evan almost completely loses his damn mind when Connor reaches between them and wraps his fingers around Evan’s hand, tightening his grip and moving Evan’s hand faster with a keening sort of whine. Connor bucks a little into Evan’s fingers, clings to him with his face buried in Evan’s neck as he gasps and whimpers, and Evan can’t help but gasp a little himself because this is the absolute hottest thing on the planet, holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“Evan,” Connor chokes out, and he’s tense and trembling all over. “Evan, I’m--”

And Evan is mesmerized, completely and utterly overwhelmed and awed and unable to look away, because Connor is having an orgasm, and his legs are shaking and he’s holding Evan tight and he’s moaning thickly and  _ fuck.  _

Fuck.

Connor sags weakly against Evan’s body as the tremors gradually ease off, and Evan lets him; does his best to support him so he doesn’t slip and crack his head open. He manages to subtly stick his hand under the water to rinse everything off as Connor catches his breath, his head hooked over Evan’s shoulder.

It’s quiet for a bit; just the rush of the shower and panting breaths.

Then Connor snickers. Which sends a prompt surge of panic to Evan’s stomach, because Connor is laughing, Connor is laughing at him and that means Evan’s embarrassed himself, he’s embarrassed himself without even knowing it, Evan has done something  _ wrong. _

Connor must feel Evan stiffen against him, because he shakes his head a little, then pulls back so Evan can read his face.

“Nothing, it’s just...your mom is gonna ask questions about this month’s water bill for  _ sure.” _

_ “Jesus,”  _ Evan hisses, immediately scrambling for the taps and stopping the shower in its tracks. The bathroom straight-away seems unnaturally quiet without the noise, and Evan’s more aware than ever of the sound of his own heartbeat and raspy, keyed-up breaths.

Connor, still chuckling, wrings out his hair. 

He steps out of the shower and reaches for the spare towel on the floor, drying himself off a little before wrapping it around his hips. 

Evan stands stupidly in the shower. Like he’s waiting for instructions.

Which he kind of is, to be honest, because he’s not really sure what to do now. He’s not really sure of a lot of things, except for the fact that he really really enjoyed that, and he’d really like to do that again at some point, and he’s still, like. Really fucking hard.

Everything else hangs in the balance,

Connor sees him standing there in the fogged up mirror. Turns, so their positions from earlier are reversed; Evan in the shower and Connor out of it, standing so close they're almost nose to nose.

"So, uh," Connor murmurs, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "That was...really fucking nice?"

Evan's uncertainty and every single one of his residual nerves come screeching to a halt. The tension eases and his spine slackens and he quite literally sighs in relief, laughing at himself.

God, of  _ course  _ Connor had liked that. How the hell could his anxiety have possibly convinced him that Connor hadn't liked that?

"Yeah?" Evan breathes, his own cheeks coloring, and Connor leans in and kisses one of them, which only makes him blush harder.

"Mm," Connor mumbles. "You're really good at that."

"That--I dunno what that says about--about  _ me _ ," Evan says, aiming for a joke which he's sure has fallen flat, but Connor actually does crack up, his eyes and nose creasing up and squishing together as he laughs. 

Evan grins; shifts a little in the cooling bathroom.

Ew. His wet clothes feel...kind of awful, now. Cold and drippy and sticking to him. It's like...not sexy anymore.

Connor notices the ever-so-slight wrinkle of his nose, because Connor notices things like that about Evan, because he cares enough to notice. 

"Hey, quick question. How the hell are you planning on getting out of there without either a) stripping off, or b) getting water literally fucking everywhere?"

And.

Shit.

Evan hadn’t thought about that.

Connor could help him, right? Connor could bring him some fresh clothes.

“Uhh…” says Evan dumbly. 

Connor smirks and takes tiny step backwards.

Evan is in trouble.

“See, like. I was actually thinking I’d really like to reciprocate?” Connor taunts, eyes sparkling wickedly.

“Connor,” Evan says warningly, even as his face darkens and his brain snags on the word  _ reciprocate.  _

“But,” Connor continues mischievously. “Seems like you’re otherwise occupied here, so…”

_ “Connor,”  _ Evan says, growing increasingly desperate. “Connor you fucking  _ wouldn’t.” _

Connor taps the tip of Evan’s nose with his index finger.

Smiles the biggest, cockiest smile like Evan  _ hadn’t  _ just made him completely fall apart in under ten minutes.

“I’ll be in your room if you want me to return the favor. Peace out.”

Not unlike the noise of a shower, Evan’s brain turns to static. And his heart turns to static, and every one of his limbs. 

Evan fucking  _ hates  _ Connor Murphy.

And loves him.

Loves him so goddamn motherfucking much, that complete fucking piece of fucking shit.

And when Evan figures out how the fuck he’s going to get out of this shower, he’s going to tell Connor that.

It’s only a matter of time. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
